


it's a road that never ends

by bettersounds (thebadguyswin)



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Compulsions, Gen, Skin picking, claustrophobia (kinda), heavydirtysoul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 06:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10431165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebadguyswin/pseuds/bettersounds
Summary: It's not irrational if there's a reason behind it.It’s not rational, it’s not rational. He knows. He pretends. He lies.Inspired by heavydirtysoul (mv) and this artwork: https://twitter.com/VlOLENTlSLANDS/status/827891608838426624





	

**Author's Note:**

> This might not be the most proofread thing in the world but I am going to tighten it up a bit! But honestly I've been sitting on this since HDS dropped, unable to finish it because of my university work etc etc etc. So here we go! Finally! Months later! 
> 
> Huge thank you to Anne for being cool with me taking ~inspiration~ from their work. I hope this is okay.
> 
> Have a nice day! Feedback is nice! Sorry if u don't like it!!

Tyler wakes up at 5.30pm. He’s woken up by an incessant beep coming from the alarm clock by his bed. It’s the basic model available at the electrical store in town. It’s nothing special.

He gets out of bed, leaving the sheets ruffled and unmade while he goes to the bathroom. He flicks the light on. Then off. Then on. Then off. Then on. Shower turned on with a twist of a handle rather than a switch, he pees and brushes his teeth while the water takes a couple of moments to heat up. Twelve brushstrokes to his front teeth, twelve to each side of molars. Repeat four times. Spit, rinse. You need to brush your teeth thoroughly and evenly. It’s not irrational if there’s a reason behind it.

He showers. He rubs shampoo into his hair and counts to sixty, four times. Rinse, repeat. He washes his face. Counts to sixty, twice. Rinse, repeat. Rinse, repeat. Tyler had bad skin when he was in middle school. He started doing something about it in high school. It got better. People didn’t call him names so much anymore. He needs to keep washing his face. He’ll get bad skin again if he doesn’t. Rinse, repeat. He washes his body. Rinse, repeat. It’s not irrational.

He steps out of the shower, and dries off. Thoroughly. He makes his bed. He has two pillows. Each pillow has two sides, so that’s four nights of sleep. It’s been three nights since he changed their cases. He’ll need to change them again tomorrow. You need to change your sheets, it’s only hygienic. It’s rational.

He puts on his uniform. Grey shirt, darker grey tie, even darker slacks. His shoes should be polished, but they’re dulled by dust and scuff marks. The metallic badge on his chest, denoting his status as ‘security guard’ is tarnished too. It barely reflects light any more. It appears as grey as his shirt.

Breakfast is a bowl of cereal and orange juice. Lunch, consumed at midnight, will be a ham salad sandwich made the morning before with ingredients from his fridge. Dinner will be whatever he has precooked and frozen in his freezer, and eaten when the rest of the town is still rubbing sleep grit from their eyes.

He washes his dishes. The water is hot. He can’t hold his hands in the sink for too long, but that’s okay. Hot water is good. It works.

He drives to work. His commute is from his house, a house which sits alone in the outskirts of the town. His commute takes him through the outlying fields, through sparse woods, and into the town until he gets to his place of work. The route is familiar, good.

His commute is grey and bleak. Heavy clouds hang in the sky, growing darker and grey as a hidden sun sinks below the horizon.  His journey home will be the same, but reversed. He’ll be back inside, reheating precooked food while frost still clings to the grass and before the sun has had a chance to melt away the early morning fog.

Work means sitting, watching monitors on a desk as the flick from area to area. Work is a deserted shopping mall, empty apart from him and the cleaners who appear at the beginning and end of his shift to clear away all evidence that day’s customers. Work is boring, isolating. Work pays the bills. No one bothers him during work. No one notices him. Work is fine.

When he gets home, he flicks the light on. Then off. On, off, on. He makes food. He eats. He brushes his teeth, twelve brushstrokes at a time, and washes his face, counting to sixty, rinse, repeat. He flips his pillow to the clean side. He cries.  It’s not rational, it’s not rational. He knows. He pretends. He lies. He sleeps.

* * *

Tyler remembers not caring so much about washing his face. He did it, sure, but he remembers not caring about it so much. He remembers not caring if he didn’t wash it before he slept. Tyler remembers caring too much about it. He remembers scrubbing his skin until it turned pink and tender, and did more damage than good. He remembers picking off flakes of skin until he had red under his fingernails. He remembers parents or siblings knocking on the bathroom door asking if he was going to be much longer.

_Just a moment, I’m almost done, I won’t be much longer. I’m sorry. I’m sorry._

Tyler remembers weaning himself away from that. He thinks he has a good balance now. He has a routine, and he sticks to it. As long as he sticks to it, it’s okay. It’s not irrational. He doesn’t have to do everything the same way, every day. He wants to. It’s worked so far, so it will keep working, right? It’s not irrational.

Wake up, change sheets, shower, eat, drive, work, work, eat, work, drive, eat, wash, sleep. Wake up, shower, eat, drive, work, drive, eat, sleep. Wake up, work, sleep. Every day, like clockwork. All in a world where the sun doesn’t exist for weeks on end. At least, for Tyler it doesn’t.

Tyler tells himself he enjoys his life every morning as he looks into the mirror and brushes his teeth. He tells himself his uniform, whilst not the prettiest, is functional and comfortable and low maintenance. He earns enough to pay his bills and stock his cupboards. He sees people and they treat him nicely. He tells himself his life is okay on his way to and from work, and as he sits quietly watching the security cameras at his desk or as he patrols the deserted mall. He tells himself he is okay when he grips the porcelain sink basin with tears in his eyes and water on his face, trying to control his breathing.

* * *

Tyler is driving home from work the first time he sees him. He doesn’t know he’s seen him yet. He doesn’t know him yet.

He’s driving down an empty road in the early morning, his eyes bleary and sore from hours of focussing on the security footage’s static images. The road is as grey as the sky. The trees are bare, and the leaves have long since been churned into the brown earth.

He sees something.

The bright yellow stands out for a second. A flash peeking through the bare trunks of the woods. A spark flickering out from charred embers. It’s gone before Tyler can really register it. A plastic bag or food wrapper fluttering into view, he rationalises. What else could it be?

Tyler grips the steering wheel and keeps driving.

He changes his pillowcases when he gets home, while his food heats up. He eats. He washes. He sleeps.

* * *

When living the way Tyler does, it’s so easy to forget what life in technicolour feels like. Monotonous, repetitive, void of any kind of real experience. When living like Tyler does, a flash of brightness can stick around. That flash of yellow imprints on Tyler, and it’s stuck in his head.

He shops on Sundays, stocking up on food and necessities for the week. The store he’s in is big, and sells most of what he needs. Harsh lighting makes the food on the shelves blur into a continuous loop. He circulates, knowing which shelves to visit and which aisles to skip. His shopping list rarely changes, it is part of his routine.

There’s a small section for clothes. Yellow, large, with drawstrings and a kangaroo pocket, he spies a hoodie. His hands reach out and grab one in his size, maybe a little larger than usual. The material is thick but not bulky, and soft between his fingers. He dumps it into his cart. He needs a new sweater, he thinks. It’ll grow slightly warmer soon and a lighter layer is useful, instead of his usual heavy coat.

It isn’t until the cashier is scanning his items, and hands him the sweater to bag up, that he really remembers the flash of yellow. He stuffs the clothing into a bag, next to a bag of rice and a punnet of strawberries, and doesn’t dwell any further on it.

* * *

Tyler sees a column of smoke from between the trees on his drive to work one day that week. It doesn’t look so serious as to push him to alert the fire department, so he isn’t worried. He continues his drive to work. It’s gone by the time he drives home.

* * *

The weather gets warmer, and Tyler starts leaving his coat at home whenever he goes outside. He pulls his yellow hoodie over his head instead. As long as he takes it off when he gets to work, it doesn’t break dress regulation.

He drags his fingernails over his cheeks as he drives. His cheeks are smooth, and there are no bumps there for his nails to catch on. He switches to his chin and nose, where blackheads still remain despite his best efforts. Scratching at them makes him feel better, so he does. One hand on the steering wheel, the other digging at his skin. Not enough to bleed. It’s okay if he doesn’t make himself bleed.

* * *

Three weeks after he saw the plume of smoke, and four weeks after he thought he saw a flash of yellow in the trees, Tyler is driving home from work again. His hoodie sleeve is pressed against his chin. He made a healing scab bleed, and the yellow fabric soaks up a spec of red.

 _Stupid. Dammit. Stupid, stupid_. He’s annoyed at himself, but it’s too late now.

Grey trees, grey sky, grey road. Yellow hoodie, pink skin, red stain.

 _Yellow hair_? A figure is at the side of the road.

Tyler presses on the brakes, slowing the car down as he approaches the person. Yellow hair, grey hoodie, dark jeans, red backpack. Dark beanie clutched in one fist, the other hand gripping their shoulder strap. A hitchhiker?

Tyler should stop for them. He doesn’t know them, sure, but they’re in the middle of nowhere in the early hours of the morning. They might need help. He drums his fingers against the wheel as his car slows to a halt alongside the walking figure. His heart is beating fast, too fast. He swallows and rolls the passenger-side window down.

“Need any help?” He leans over the centre console to speak through the open window. “Couldn’t help but wonder… You see someone alone at this time… Makes you wonder if they’re okay…”

The stranger frowns and stops, bending a little to peer back at Tyler. “Can’t help but wonder similar things about someone driving around at this time either.” They retort.

“Night shift.” Tyler’s hoodie is covering his uniform. “I’m a security guard at the mall. This is the end of my day.”

The stranger shrugs.

“Do you need help? A ride?” He might have to go out of his way, and take a different route home. That’s not something he’s done for a while.

The stranger shrugs. “I live nearby.”

“Nearby?” Tyler frowns. There’s no settlements for a few miles, and there’s nothing _nearby_ except for trees.

“Yeah, nearby.” The stranger shrugs. “Thanks, anyway. For checking. But I’m fine.” They dismiss him with a flick of their wrist, and continue walking down the road.

“You’re sure?” Tyler pushes, letting the car roll forward alongside the stranger.

“Yes, I’m sure.” They chuckle, adjusting the strap on their shoulder.

Tyler sighs, and shrugs. “Well, if you’re sure.” He rolls the window back up and presses on the accelerator. The yellow-haired figure grows smaller in his rear view mirror as he pulls away. Just before they can disappear from view completely, Tyler spies them climb up the bank at the side of the road and dart into the trees. Tyler gnaws at his hoodie sleeve, his stomach twisting in apprehension. He can’t think why.

* * *

Tyler continues. Sleeping, washing, eating, driving, working. His life continues. He pushes the yellow-haired stranger to the back of his mind. He’s successful for two weeks.

 _Nearby_. For two weeks, he ignores what that word might mean. There’s nothing nearby that stretch of road. He probably just said that to avoid getting into a car with Tyler, a stranger.

 _Nearby_.

Two weeks later, Tyler sees the plume of smoke again on the way to work. It’s in the same area as before, and near where he saw the yellow-haired stranger. Tyler ignores it, and keeps driving. He can’t be late for work.

On the way home, however, Tyler can’t ignore it any more. It’s been nagging at the back of his mind all night, and he’s been suppressing it throughout his shift. On his way home, he lets curiosity get the better of him. He pulls over onto the verge by the side of the road, close to where he saw the stranger, and kills the engine. His fingers start to tingle and twitch as he claws at the door handle and stumbles out.

 _Just a few minutes. A little walk. I’ll be home soon enough_. He reasons with himself, pulling yellow sleeves over his hands and stretching the fabric.

Tyler sees footprints in the soft mud at the side of the road. Frost crystals preserve the indents. It’s been getting warmer, yes, but the mornings are still frosty and cool sometimes. There’s no variation in the prints, but they overlap each other. Tyler isn’t any sort of tracker, but he can tell the same person has been around, making these footprints, for a while.

He steps onto the bank, using a loose tree root to help him clamber up and into the trees. There’s a well-worn path, so he follows it in the direction in which he saw the smoke. The trees were dense by the road, but he doesn’t have to go very far before they begin to thin out, until Tyler reaches a clearing of sorts. It’s small, but there’s still a significant gap in the trees.

Tarpaulin stretches between three trees at the edge of the clearing, and a hammock stretches between another two so it hangs under the makeshift shelter. Another piece of material lies on the ground under the hammock, and there are some belongings dotted around. A bag, a blanket, a metal tray beside an opened tin of some food. A campfire is situated a little way away from the sleeping area. Tyler goes to it, and crouches, putting his hand over the charred wood. It still gives off the slightest amount of heat. He taps the white ashes tentatively, rubbing them and smearing them between his fingers. He regrets it immediately, a small whine in his throat as he tries to wipe the smudges off his fingers onto his trousers.

“Can I help you?”

The sudden appearance of someone else startles Tyler, and he straightens up clearly and turns to the newcomer. Same hoodie, and bag, and trousers, but now with a grey beanie covering the yellow hair.

“I… Uh… Nearby…” Tyler stammers. “I was nearby.” He offers weakly. Not a lie, but it didn’t really explain what Tyler was doing. Tyler doesn’t really know what he’s doing.

“You… were nearby?” The stranger raises their eyebrows and tilts their head accusingly. “So you crash my camp?”

“I didn’t know it was yours.” Tyler blurts out. Also not a lie, but if he had a chance to guess to whom it belonged, he wouldn’t have needed three tries. “And I didn’t crash it. I stumbled upon it.”

“Whatever, dude.” The stranger dumps the backpack beside the other bag and kicks it under the hammock. “You gonna sit or leave?” They say, not turning to look at Tyler.

“Sit where?”

The stranger shrugs. “Ground. A rock. Tree stump. Don’t give a shit.”

Tyler awkwardly drops down to sit cross-legged on the makeshift carpet. It’s plastic, so it crinkles as he sits. He tucks his feet under himself and continues to try and rub the ashes off his fingers.

“Name?” The stranger asks, shoving wood from a pile behind a tree onto the remnants of the old campfire, and lighting it with matches from his pocket.

“Tyler.” He answers. He’s still scrubbing his fingers onto his trousers.

“Josh.” The stranger offers. “What are you doing?” He gestures to Tyler’s actions.

“I got dirt… from the fire… on my fingers. Need to wash my hands.” His fingertips are still grey where he rubbed them together, and won’t get any cleaner without water and soap.

“Good luck doing that out here. No running water. But here.” Josh reaches into his bag and pulls out a metal water bottle. He dribbles some onto Tyler’s fingers and rubs them with his own. The water loosens most of the remaining dirt, and it gets wiped away by Josh’s sleeve. “Better?”

“For now.”

“Good. What are you doing here, Tyler?” Josh asks, climbing to sit in the hammock, feet dangling over the side and using a toe to rock himself back and forth.

Tyler shrugs. “Saw your fire. Saw it a couple of times, actually. I got curious.”

“So you crashed my camp?”

“I didn’t- Okay. I guess. Yeah, whatever.” Tyler mimics Josh’s dismissive tone. “Didn’t realise you’d still be around.”

“I said I lived nearby.” Josh pulls his feet into the hammock and lies back. “You must’ve considered it.”

Tyler’s only response is to shrug. He pulls his sleeves over his hands again and stands, wincing as the plastic crinkles under his feet.

“You going already?” Josh sighs, peering out from his hammock. “I didn’t meant to scare you. I’m not mad. It’s just unexpected to get visitors out here, that’s all.”

“You live out here? Like this?” Tyler breaks his silence, looking around at the camp. No running water, no real shelter. Tyler shudders.

Josh jumps out of the hammock and straightens his grey hoodie. He shrugs. “I travel around. This is cheaper and easier than tryna find a bed every night. More private, too.”

“You been here long?”

“However long you’ve been seeing my campfire smoke.” Josh shrugs.

“Don’t you get… Cold? Dirty? Lonely?”

Josh laughs. It’s short, more like a sharp exhale than a laugh. “Nice to see where your priorities lie.”

Tyler frowns. “I was just asking.”

“Yeah, I do. I guess.” He admits. “But I enjoy my own company enough.”

Tyler shuffles his feet. “I should go.” He stares at the ground and chews his sleeve. “Do you need anything? I drive home this way every morning. I can drop stuff off tomorrow.”

“You’d come back?” Josh frowns.

Tyler shrugs. His shoulders will start to ache if he has to shrug any more. “Just wondered if you needed anything, that’s all.”

“No, I’m good. I’m good… I…” He falters. “Unless… Nah. I’m good.”

“You thought of something.” Tyler pushes. “I don’t mind.”

Josh looks sheepish for a moment, then sighs. “I guess… I haven’t had strawberries in so long. They always end up smushed in my bag or rotten before I can get to them.”

“Strawberries, got it.” Tyler nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” Josh cocks his head.

“Sure about what? Bringing you strawberries?”

“Sure you want to come back here? You really don’t seem like the type to enjoy…” He flicks his hand towards his living arrangements. “…This.”

Tyler shrugs one final shrug. “Maybe I’m not.” He steps away from Josh and out of the clearing, heading back to his car without looking back. If he did look back, he’d have seen Josh staring dumbfounded at him as he walked away. All he could focus on, however, was the need to get home, to his bathroom, and to hot water and soap, where he could wash his hands properly.

* * *

It’s raining when Tyler pulls up on the same verge as the previous day, so he tugs the yellow hood over his head before he steps out of the car. He grabs the bag containing the punnet of strawberries which he set on the passenger’s seat beside him and steps out of the car. He gets mud on his shoes as he climbs the embankment and trudges between the trees in the direction of Josh’s camp.

 _This is mad. Crazy. Stupid_.

The red spec from yesterday has turn a dull brown, but there are no new stains to accompany it. Tyler hasn’t so much as scraped at his face today; he’s doing well.

Josh is sitting, relaxing, on a fold out chair when Tyler finds him again. His eyes are closed and his head is tilted back, sheltered underneath the tarpaulin. Beads of water cling to his grey beanie.

Tyler coughs to signal his arrival, and can’t help but smile a little when Josh opens one eye to peer at the newcomer.

“You came back.”

“Mhm.” Tyler shakes the bag in his hand. “Brought you these too.”

Josh’s eyes widen with recognition, and he wiggles his fingers towards the bag. “You’re a star.”

Tyler laughs and tosses him the bag.

Josh immediately pulls the container out and tears it open. He picks out a strawberry, bright red and shining, and bites into it, nodding his approval. “Good shit.”

“Glad you appreciate it.” Tyler smirks.

Josh continues to eat the fruit, juice gathering in the corners of his mouth as he chews. “Didn’t expect you to come back.” He adds. “You seemed really uncomfortable around here. Still do.” His lips turn a deeper pink as he eats, stained by the berries.

Tyler shrugs, and settles on the ground as he did the day before. The plastic crinkles, but he’s less uneasy about it. “This is a little out of my comfort zone, I guess.” He drags his short nails across the cuffs of his hoodie.

“It’s okay, camping isn’t for everyone.” Josh huffs, setting the strawberries down beside him. “God knows it was tough for me the first few months, but I got used to it. Hammock’s as good as a mattress any day.”

“Yeah.” Tyler says, distracted. “Camping’s not really my thing.”

“Have you camped much?” Josh leans forward in his chair, and bobs his knee. Josh is the type of person to always be wiggling or bouncing some part of his body. A nervous tick.

“Nope.” Tyler replies.

“Then, no offence, but how do you know?”

“Because I don’t think I’d enjoy it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I wouldn’t…” Tyler pulls his sleeves down over his hands.

“But you’ve never tried.” Josh presses on.

“No offence, but why do you feel the need to camp out here, in the middle of nowhere?” Tyler counters. He’s defensive. He doesn’t want to spill his guts out to this stranger.

Josh frowns. “That’s nothing to do with what I asked.” He shifts in his seat. “Besides, kinda personal.”

Tyler shrugs. “Kinda personal why I don’t like camping.”

Josh studies Tyler for a second, then nods in acceptance. “Fine. I won’t ask.”

“Thank you.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not curious.” Josh raises an eyebrow.

Tyler snorts. “You know what they say.” He picks up a stick from the ground and traces patterns into the dirt. The bark is damp, and dirt is transferred onto his fingers. He’s annoyed. “Curiosity killed the cat.”

“Oh yeah?” Josh leans forward in his chair. “Well satisfaction brought it back.”

* * *

Tyler isn’t sure how it happens. He knows how it started, a punnet of strawberries and a need to see the stranger living in the woods again. But he isn’t sure how it turned into… This.

“This” constitutes as Tyler, who hates breaking routine, uncertainty, and disorder, pulling his car over every morning on his way home from work, and visiting Josh.

He’s never sure when he steps out of the car if Josh will be at his camp or not. Sometimes, he stumbles upon a still sleeping Josh, tucked up in his hammock. Others, he has to wait for anywhere from ten minutes to half an hour before Josh appears. Whatever happens, Tyler always stumbles upon the camp, a paper bag of something for breakfast in his hand, looking for Josh. Whatever happens, he is eventually greeted with a warm smile and twinkling eyes, and offered a seat on the tarpaulin. Josh usually abandons his folding seat to sit beside Tyler, their knees touching and biting into Tyler’s offering. They sit, and talk for an hour or two.  They talk about insignificant things, and share very little personal information. Tyler talks about his mom visiting him on his day off, or his high school friend getting engaged, or his brother’s new job. Josh mainly listens. Tyler knows barely anything about him. But somehow, Tyler feels like he can trust Josh. He feels like he could, but he doesn’t let himself.

Today, Tyler has brought a cinnamon danish and two hot coffees, after Josh complain how his instant coffee just wasn’t the same as “the good shit” he liked. Tyler was confused, and wanted to ask why he didn’t just go home and enjoy his life and all the amenities it could offer like anyone else does, but that might open him up to interrogation himself. Tyler didn’t know why Josh was out here, even after weeks of dropping by to visit him. But then again, Josh didn’t know why Tyler always refused to stay longer than a couple of hours.

“Bring a sleeping bag, spend the day out here with me.” Josh would offer. “It would cut down on your commute a little, and it’d be no bother to me. If you wanted, y’know…”

Tyler would shake his head. “Can’t do that.” He’d insist. “Got stuff to do, y’know.” Tyler couldn’t say the thought of him spending longer than twelve hours without washing his face filled him with dread and just a little bit of terror. Thankfully, Josh didn’t push him to do something he didn’t want.

“So, how was your shift?” Josh asks, biting into the pastry and grinning as he chewed. “Apprehend any miscreants?” He smirked.

Tyler rolls his eyes. “Nah, quiet night as usual. Honestly, I wonder why they bother with a night guard sometimes. Practically nothing happens.”

“Then why do it?” Josh frowns, licking glaze from his bottom lip. “Surely you could be doing something worth your time.”

Tyler shrugs. “I don’t do people. This means I avoid people. Besides, who are you to tell me to do something worth my time? You’re the one who hides out in the freaking woods all day.”

Josh frowns. “You don’t do people, yet you’re so willing to hang out with me every day.” He snorts. “Sure, Tyler. You make perfect sense.”

Tyler pouts, and sips coffee instead of replying.

“Anyway.” Josh continues. “I do more than hang out in the woods all day. You just don’t stick around long enough to see.”

An opportunity, Tyler thinks, to find out more about Josh. He doesn’t know why he cares, why he wants to know more. He only knows that he does want to know more. “What do you do then?”

“Excuse me?” Josh pauses mid-chew.

“During the day. When I’m not here.” Tyler raises an eyebrow.

Josh swallows, and shrugs. “Y’know, stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Stuff. Depends.” Josh focusses on drinking coffee rather than looking at Tyler.

“Like…”

“Stick around and you can see.”

Tyler frowns. “You know I can’t do that.”

“I don’t know shit.” Josh raises his voice a little. “And neither do you.”

The air is heavy between them, and Tyler thinks it might rain soon. “You’re right, I don’t know shit.”

“Stay with me.” Josh’s voice is much, much quieter now. “Please. Stay today.”

Tyler swallows the last of his breakfast and drains his cup. “Can’t.”

“You can.”

“No, I can’t.” Tyler stands, and turns, and starts to leave.

“Please, Tyler.”

Tyler doesn’t listen to him, and leaves. He thinks it’s started raining. It must have started raining, because his face is wet and he can feel droplets on his cheeks. The sky is overcast, but the clouds aren’t heavy enough to let their burden fall. Tyler rubs his sleeves over his cheeks, gets into his car, and drives home.

* * *

Tyler thinks a lot when he’s in the shower. Tonight is his night off from work, so he’s not in any sort of rush. A Sunday morning, considered a lazy day for a lot of people. When Tyler was a child, he’d be dragged out of bed by his mother at seven in the morning and bundled into the car for a morning service at church. It wasn’t until he was eight years old that he realised not everyone spent their Sunday mornings in an airless church listening to an old man drone on and on and on.

Today, he has no plans. He doesn’t need to sleep straight away, because he has no night shift to worry about. Usually, he just spends his day relaxing, doing errands, and enjoying the chance to sleep at the same time as the rest of his town.

Today is different. Today, he wants to go outside. He stands in the shower, warm water running down his head and chest, and feels the need to do _something_.

He steps out of the shower, dries, and dresses. His bed is already made, and he puts laundry in his washing machine.

Then, before he can even register his actions, he grabs an overnight bag and packs it. A clean t-shirt, and underwear, and a sleeping bag. He pulls on his yellow pullover and grabs his warmest coat, hat, and gloves, and throws them in too. He puts it all in the back of his car, and he drives to the same grassy verge he’d ended up at every morning for weeks. It’s later than he’d usually arrive, and anxiety twists his stomach. What if Josh isn’t there? What if he wasn’t serious about Tyler staying for longer than a couple of hours? What if Tyler can’t stand to go the full day without wanting to scrape his skin off?

Tyler pushes those thoughts down, down, down, as far as he can push them. He shoves the toggles of his hoodie in between his teeth while he drives and gnashes, his knuckles white as he grips the wheel. He sits in his car, listening to the end of a song on the radio. He doesn’t register what it is, he just waits for the final note to vibrate though his car and the chipper radio host’s voice to come in. He knocks the radio off, and pulls his key from the ignition. Bag over shoulder, toggles still gripped between teeth, he steps out of his car and locks the door.

He spies a fainter plume of smoke as he climbs the bank and heads between the trees, like the fire has burnt down to glowing embers. The path is familiar now, and Tyler touches the bark of trees as he passes. Damp, rough, cold. How Josh continued to find dry wood to keep him warm was a mystery to Tyler.

The camp is deserted when Tyler reaches it, but he’s right about the fires dying down. The hammock is still stretched between the trees, as is the makeshift roof. Tyler’s stomach settles just a little. He spits out his toggles, and it lands with a damp thud against his chest.

“Josh?” He calls out tentatively. He doesn’t know if it’s worth it, if Josh is close enough nearby to hear, or if he’s wasting his breath.

It’s worth it.

“Tyler?” He hears from beyond the camp, a few metres away. Then Josh appears, bright, pink-faced, with stubble clinging to his cheeks. “You’re late.” He smiles. His eyes crinkle and he bites his lip, and Tyler feels his stomach tighten and his knees wobble.

“Sorry. Day – I mean, night – off.” Tyler presses his lips together. “Needed to sort some stuff.” He drops the bag on his shoulder to the floor, and the thud betrays its weight.

“Staying for longer than a few hours, are we?” Josh raises an eyebrow. “You changed your tune.”

Tyler shrugs. “Need to shake things up a bit. If that’s okay with you.”

“More than okay.” Josh smiles again. He won’t stop smiling at Tyler, and Tyler can’t handle it.

“Where do I put my shit, then?” Tyler nudges the bag with his toe. “I brought a sleeping bag… In case… You know…”

“On the plastic.” Josh suggests, picking the bag up himself and putting it beside his own. “Keeps your stuff dry. And I have a spare hammock, but the sleeping bag’s gonna be handy too. It’s meant to be cold tonight.”

“Ha, maybe we should huddle for warmth then.” Tyler chuckles, his cheeks flushing slightly at the thought of being in such close proximity. He’s annoyed with himself because of it.

“Maybe.”

If Tyler’s eyes weren’t cast down to the ground, he would have seen Josh’s eyes glint. But he didn’t.

* * *

“So this is what you do all day?” Tyler raises his voice so Josh can still hear him from his vantage point at the top of a sycamore tree. He can only see the outline of Josh against the bright blue sky, blacking out his features and reducing him to a silhouette. The sky is cloudless, and there’s a bitter chill to the air.

“This is one thing I do on some days.” Josh rolls his eyes. “Come up, it’s fun.”

Tyler snorts. “I haven’t climbed a tree since I was nine, Josh.”

“So?” Josh retorts. “It’s like riding a bike, you’ll pick it up again. Try it.”

So far, Josh has cooked Tyler beans over the last of the heat from his fire, set up his spare hammock, and taken Tyler for a tour of the surrounding area. ‘His territory,’ as he’d called it. Now, he was up a tree, and Tyler was both impressed and worried for his safety.

“What if I fall? What if you fall?” Tyler chewed his lip. Top teeth scraping bottom lip, if he digs hard enough he’d taste blood again.

Josh sighs hard enough for Tyler to hear from the bottom of the tree, and swings easily down the branches until he lands on his feet beside Tyler. “Tell you what, I’ll stay down here, and you climb. If you fall, I’ll be right here to catch you. Deal?”

Tyler looks into Josh’s eyes, and sees confidence, kindness, and understanding. His stomach jolts once again, and his heart swells. “Okay.” He looks up at the tree. It’s small, but the trunk is sturdy and the branches are thick enough to support him. He rolls yellow sleeves up to his elbows. “Okay, I can do that.”

One foot hold at a time, one branch after the other, Tyler pulls himself up the tree. He doesn’t look down, instead focussing on his hands and where he puts them.

“You’re doing great.” Josh encourages Tyler from the ground, watching as he makes his way as far up as he can before he thinks the branches wouldn’t support his weight. “You okay up there?”

Tyler straddles a branch thick enough to support him and swings his legs on either side. “Yeah, I’m okay.” He laughs. There’s a breeze up at this height, and it ruffles his hair. “It doesn’t feel too high up, but I can see so far.” He looks around at the tree tops surrounding him, a mosaic of greens and browns. Beyond them, he sees his car, and the road, trailing off until it disappears into the outskirts of the town. “It’s pretty.”

“I’ll say.” Josh smiles so wide, Tyler can see his teeth flash even from this distance. “Do you wanna come down or do you want me to come up?”

Tyler hesitates for a moment, then replies. “Come up. But only if you go back down first so you can still catch me.”

“Deal.” Josh says, then swings himself easily up the branches to meet Tyler. He climbs higher than Tyler, more confidant and more familiar with the strength of tree branches. He sits on the branch like a bench, while Tyler still straddles his and grips with his knees.

“You’re stressing me out.” Tyler breathes, noticing Josh’s relaxed grip on his branch. “You might fall.”

“I might.” Josh shrugs. “But I probably won’t.”

“How do you know that?” Tyler frowns.

Josh rolls his eyes and exhales sharply. “You worry way too much. Do something to chill yourself out?”

“Like what?” Tyler swings his legs slowly.

“What usually calms you down?”

An innocent question, but not one Tyler is ready to answer. He can’t wash his hands without a sink or reorganise his wardrobe in the woods. What else is there? Tyler shrugs.

“There must be something that sooths you.” Josh pushes.

“Not out here.” Tyler breathes.

Josh frowns, and sighs. “Shout. Yell. Scream.”

“What?”

“You have pent up energy. Frustration. Let it out.” Josh shrugs.

“I don’t like loud noises.”

“Then let _something_ out.” Josh rolls his eyes again. “Sing. You can sing quietly. Maybe build up to loud noises.”

Tyler frowns, because that’s not something he’s ever considered before. He sang in choir at Church. He sang a little in the shower sometimes. But that was just to pass the time, never for any real reason. His frown deepens, and he recalls a song his mother used to sing while she cooked when he was a child.

“ _Why do birds suddenly appear, every time you are near?”_ He smiles to himself, and he remembers his mom’s soup and his little brother’s bicycle and his dad’s aftershave. “ _Just like me, they long to be close to you.”_ He murmurs, more for his own benefit than for Josh’s.

Josh smiles regardless, and hums as Tyler continues the song.  He pats out a rhythm on his thighs as Tyler sings, and their smiles turn into grins.

“See?” Josh nudges Tyler’s shoulder with his foot. “Wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“I guess not.” Tyler blushes. “C’mon, what else is there to do?”

Josh’s grin grows ever wider. “Follow me.” He shimmies down the tree quickly, and stands at its base while Tyler follows. His arms are outstretched, ready to catch Tyler if he were to lose his footing. Not that he needed to though, as Tyler makes it down easily.

Josh leads Tyler through the trees, their feet crunching on twigs and drier patches of leaves. The trees grow a little denser, then begin to thin out again. Josh keeps walking.

“If it were warmer,” Josh breathes as they approach a gap in the trees. “I’d suggest swimming. But in this weather, I doubt it’s wise.”

Tyler inhales sharply as they reach the edge of a lake. It’s small, Tyler can see to the other side without difficulty, but the water is clear and fresh and laps gently at smooth pebbles along the shoreline. “I didn’t even know this was here.”

“Kinda hidden from the road.” Josh reasons. “But that just means it’s quiet. Great for swimming in, too.”

“Aren’t you worried about bacteria? Weird water creatures?” Tyler shudders. “You couldn’t rinse off anywhere.”

Josh rolls his eyes once again, he thinks he might get a headache if he does it any more today. “DO you ever stop worrying?”

Tyler can only shrug.

“Well, Ty, don’t worry. I do research these things before I go somewhere. The water is safe to swim in and shark-free.”

Tyler blushes in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean _sharks…”_

“Yeah, yeah. Sure.” Josh laughs. “Point is, it’s safe. Well, apart from the freezing temperature right now. It wouldn’t be wise to swim until it gets much warmer.”

Tyler’s stomach flips, and his stuffs his fists into the pocket of his hoodie. “Maybe we should try it, some time. In the summer.” He ventures.

Josh feels himself stiffen, but it’s not perceptible. Not to Tyler. “Yeah.” He swallows. “Summer. Sure.” He checks his watch. “We should head back.” He states bluntly.

“Okay.” Tyler swallows. “Let’s… head back.”

* * *

Camp fire food isn’t as bad as Tyler imagined it to be. Not when he has Josh to talk to, anyway. Neither is sharing a hammock with another person. Not when the other person is Josh, anyway.

Filled with hot pot Josh made up over the fire, they wrap their arms around each other and cover themselves with blankets and sleeping bags. Under Josh’s makeshift shelter, they’re dry.

Tyler hasn’t brushed his teeth or washed his face, and he’s in such close proximity to Josh. His anxiety should be through the roof. But he takes deep breaths, and settles his head against Josh’s chest.

“Comfy?” Josh asks.

“Mhm.” Tyler replies, smiling as he feels Josh’s grip around him tighten.

“Sorry if I smell bad.” Josh laughs, and closes his eyes. “I get used to it.”

“Then I can too.” Tyler yawns, and allows himself to drift off.

Josh feels Tyler go limp against him, and smiles. They sleep.

* * *

Tyler expected to have an awful night’s sleep. He expected to wake up filled with anxiety and wanting to run as far away from Josh as possible. He expected to need to sneak out from Josh’s embrace and go to his car and drive away and never want to come back.

None of that happens.

Tyler wakes up, his nose pink from the morning chill and still entangled with Josh’s limbs. Josh is still asleep, so Tyler stays still and dozes until Josh’s breathing picks up and he blinks open his eyes.

“You slept?” Josh mumbles, snorting some of Tyler’s hair out of his nostrils.

Tyler nods. “Mhm.” He yawns. “Pretty well.”

“Good. It was warmer, with you here.” Josh’s arms are still around Tyler, but neither of them want to move yet so it isn’t an issue.

“How do you manage it alone?” Tyler balls his fist up and presses it against Josh’s chest.

“Don’t have much of a choice.” Josh murmurs.

“You could go home.” The words fall out of Tyler’s mouth before he can stop them, and he feels Josh’s breath hitch under his fist. “Unless… Never mind.”

“Unless what?” Josh can’t really move out of the hammock until Tyler does, but his grip around Tyler slackens.

Tyler feels the anxiety he’d gone so long without. He twists his body around and slides out of Josh’s arms, his feet smacking on the floor as he jumps out of the hammock. “I didn’t think. I never asked. I’m sorry.”

“No.” Josh asserts. “Unless what?”

“Unless you don’t… have one…” Tyler swallows. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t. You never mentioned one so it was wrong of me to assume… It doesn’t matter…”

Josh slides out of the hammock to stand beside Tyler, and he shrugs. “I got a home. Not too far from here, too. But I prefer this.”

“You got a home but you prefer sleeping outside every night?”

Josh shrugs again. “Yeah. I go back there ever few months. See my mom and dad, my brother, my sisters. But the rest of the time I travel. Do odd jobs where I can to save money for supplies, but I don’t need a lot. So, yeah.” Josh’s eyes are dark, and he won’t look at Tyler.

“Is home so bad?” Tyler ventures, reaching out with a shaking hand to hold Josh’s.

“Constricting. I can’t… I can’t be there for too long. The walls feel like they’re closing in. I hate walls, hate them.”

“It’s okay, Josh.” Tyler tries to comfort him, but he finds it hard to when he’s never related to anything less in his life. To hate your own home? To want to live outside and without any amenities? The thought makes Tyler itch.

“It’s not. It’s weird, and I know it.” Josh lets go of Tyler’s hand and sits by the remnants of last night’s fire. Some fresh wood and a match, and it’s lit and crackling again. “When I was little, I loved camping with my family. It seemed so much better than a stuffy bedroom and itchy sheets. Any excuse to camp, and I’d take it.”

Tyler sits down next to Josh, pointing his toes in the direction of the warm fire.

“My dad built a treehouse in the garden when I was ten.” Josh continues. “We have a big garden, back at home. The treehouse is right at the bottom, far away from the house, and I pretty much moved into it. My mom would make me come inside in the evenings, put me to bed, but I’d climb out the window when everyone was asleep and go sleep in my treehouse instead. I still sleep in it when I do go home, as long as it’s not dangerously cold.”

“So you just… really hate the indoors?” Tyler frowns.

Josh shrugs. “Yeah. I hitchhike my way around the state, sometimes outside it, and just see as much as I can. I don’t wanna go too far out, not just yet. But I’m working and saving so maybe I can see more America eventually. I’d love to go to Europe and see how much I could see over there, too. But not yet.”

Tyler nods, and rests his chin in his hands. “Well, I’m kind of relieved.” He sighs.

“Why?”

“You’re not an escaped convicted.” Tyler raises his eyebrows.

“You thought I might be?”

Tyler chuckles. “Not really. It’d have been on the news, plus you’re kind of noticeable with that hair colour. Definitely not trying to blend in. So, you’d have been doing a shit job if you were on the run.”

Josh laughs and throws another log on the fire. “Damn right.”

Tyler runs his hand through his hair, wincing as he feels oils and dead skin collect under his fingernails. “I should go.” He announces.

Josh nods. “I guessed as much.”

“How so?”

“This isn’t your thing, Tyler.” Josh sighs. “I can tell. You like… order. You’re not comfortable out here.”

Tyler sniffs. “You can tell?”

“You’re trying, I know that. I don’t know why you’re so keen to push yourself to enjoy yourself out here, but you realise you’re allowed to enjoy other things, right?”

“I know.” Tyler wipes his nose on his sleeve. “I’m… I’m not, not enjoying myself because of the outside.” Tyler admits. His heart hammers in his chest.

“Then what’s bugging you?” Josh prods the embers with a stick, dampened so it doesn’t catch alight.

Tyler hides his hands in his sleeves and tucks them inside the pocket. “I… I try so hard to control my life. I need systems and routines to keep me on track. They’re meant to help me, but I can’t help but feel they hold me back sometimes. I’m sick of the cycle in my head. I’m sick of needing to do things in certain ways or else my day, my week, my month is ruined. I just wanted a break.”

“Routines?” Josh frowns.

“It’s complicated.”

“I can try to understand.”

“It’s… too complicated.”

“And me.” Josh waves his hand between them. “You visiting me. Is that part of your routine?”

Tyler shrugs. “You were my break from routine.”

“Every morning.” Josh frowns. “Every morning at the same time.”

Tyler chews his lip.

“Tyler, am I a break from your routine, or a part of it?”

Tyler’s lips deepen in colour from his chewing. “A… A break…”

“This isn’t a break, Tyler. Not if you’ve planned it the same as everything else.” Josh takes Tyler’s hand now. “Your routine, what does it mean to you?”

Tyler’s nose grows pinker, but this time it’s from the tears prickling his eyes. “Coping. It’s all a way to cope. Nothing ever went right, so I made it go right. I do everything right so nothing can go wrong.”

Josh takes Tyler’s other hand. “But you feel overwhelmed? Like… Like you’re confined?”

Tyler nods, tears beginning to roll down his face as he chokes out a sob. “Yes, oh God. It’s like the walls are closing in, Josh. I’m stuck in this. I can’t get out.”

“It’s okay, Tyler. Tyler, it’s okay.” Josh coos, and he wraps his arms around Tyler and rocks back and forth with him. “It’s okay.”

“It isn’t.”

“It can be.” Josh puts his hands on Tyler’s cheeks. “Stay with me. Come with me. I’ll get you out.”

“I can’t, Josh.” Tyler closes his eyes and moves his head away from Josh’s hands. “I can’t.”

“You could. You can come away with me.” Josh says as Tyler stands and starts pacing.

“I can’t.” Tyler says again. “I can’t, I’m not strong enough. I can’t.” He repeats.

“Tyler, please.” Josh sounds scared. Josh is scared. Tyler is upset and he doesn’t know Tyler well enough to know what is going on with him exactly. He wants to help Tyler, but he had no idea how. “Tyler.” He repeats.

“I can’t.” Tyler grabs his bag, stuffs the few things unpacked and lying around the camp into it, and swings it over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Josh. I can’t.” He turns on his heel and heads back to his car. He doesn’t expect Josh to follow him, so isn’t hurt when he’s right. His car isn’t frosted over, thankfully, so he gets in quickly and starts the engine. Tears are still welling in his eyes as he pulls away, away from the plume of smoke in the trees, away from the hammock in the clearing, and away from Josh.

* * *

Tyler doesn’t sleep well. He has another night shift, and he needs to sleep otherwise it’ll be hell for him. But he can’t sleep. At first, he thinks he’s at work, sitting by his desk of monitors. But then he realises, he can’t be. He showered, lay in his bed, and closed his eyes. He closed his eyes, but all he sees is an endless maze of corridors and shops. Images clouded by static, flickering as if he’s switching from screen to screen. He’s lost, every corner he turns brings him back to where he started out. He can’t breathe, he drags fingers down cheeks and screams, but no noise comes out. He opens his mouth, strains, tears filling his eyes, but nothing happens.

His eyes snap open, and he’s covered in sweat. His sheets are damp, his skin is pink, but he’s shivering. He wearily kicks the blankets off him. They bundle up at the bottom of his bed. He curls up, knees tucked to his chest, and closes his eyes. He won’t sleep. He can’t sleep. In and out of unconsciousness, he dozes, before his eyes snap open in terror once more. His pillow grows damper as he chokes out sobs, but he doesn’t have the energy to flip it. What’s the point? The other side would be soaked soon enough. His body judders as he cries, until eventually, restless sleep claims him once again. An endless cycle, he’s tired of it. So, so tired.

* * *

The smoke isn’t there when Tyler pulls up at that grassy verge after his shift. His eye sockets are as grey as his uniform, as grey as the sky, as grey as the smoke he usually sees drifting above treetops. He stumbles in a daze up the bank and into the woods, along that familiar path in the direction of Josh.

He wants to see him. He needs to apologise. He should explain. He wants to see him so much.

Only this time, when he reaches the clearing, there is nothing. A cleared patch, with charcoal and old newspapers. A worn line in the bark of two trees where a hammock once hung. Yellowed grass where tarpaulin lay. But that’s all.

But that’s not all. On the tree, hammered into the wood with a chip of wood and a stone, a note. The writing is blocky and rushed, and Tyler pulls it off the tree.

_Tyler,_

_I’m sorry for leaving without saying goodbye. But then again, that’s kind of what you did to me. It’s kind of weird, how I’ve seen you more than I’ve seen anyone else over these past few weeks, but we don’t know each other well. We don’t know each other at all. I especially don’t know you._

_I opened up to you. It might not have seen a lot to you, but I told you more than I’ve told anyone else. I’ve spoken to you more than I’ve spoken to anyone else. I hoped that might get you to open up to me, but it didn’t. You ran._

_I don’t blame you. I don’t hate you. I don’t understand you. You have shit to sort out, with yourself, or maybe with someone else, I don’t know. That’s okay. I hope you can get it together. Don’t be afraid to open up to people, Tyler. I don’t know what set you off, but I think you need to talk to someone about this._

_I’m shit at this sort of thing, sorry. I wish you the best, anyway. I hope I see you again. I hope ~~if~~ when I see you again, you’re doing better. I hope we get to know each other better._

_Until then, good luck._

_Josh_

Tyler folds the paper in half, and stuff it in his pocket. Tyler wishes Josh were here, so they could talk, so he could work things out. But Tyler can’t work himself out, so he does what he does best. He suppresses it, he ignores it, and he goes home. He showers, eats, washes, and sleeps. He’s tires, and he’s sick. So, so sick.

* * *

Tyler rereads Josh’s note a lot. On his breaks, while his coffee brews, before he goes to sleep. He always ends up blinking back tears, folding up the note, and stuffing it back in his pocket.

* * *

The shift rota at Tyler’s job is sent out for the next month. Given priority due to his status and commitment to his workplace, he gets to choose his slots first. He looks at the night shifts he usually selects, those shifts that mean he can regiment his life so strictly.

He breathes deeply, closes his eyes, and selects time slots at random. When he opens them, he sees a mix of night shifts, day shifts, afternoon shifts, morning shifts. He checks over them to make sure he hasn’t booked himself for too many hours or multiple shifts in a row, and he sends them back to the administrator.

Routine is good, but compulsions are not.

Tyler needs to plan, needs to live, needs to _breathe._ And he will.

* * *

Tyler goes slowly.

Some parts of his routine are good, and help. Hygiene is important. Clean bedding and clothes are important. Preparing meals in advance is important.

He keeps those things.

Other things need to go. He starts out slowly. Every other day, he doesn’t wash his hair. A small step, but one that makes his skin crawl for the first week.

He goes slowly. Not washing his hair in the shower slowly turns into not showering on those days, opting instead to wash at the sink. His skin continues to crawl, but he works at it, slowly.

He showers every other day. Every other day, he washes at the sink. Hot water and soap and a sponge, he washes down those parts of his body that get sweatier than others.

He goes slowly. He tries so very hard not to count. He sets a two minute timer on his phone, and sings a song in his head as he brushes his teeth. Nearly always the same, he focuses his mind on the tune and the words instead of the movements of his wrist.

_Why do birds suddenly appear…_

He goes slowly. Over the next days, weeks, months, Tyler tries.

His lips heal. His skin is less irritated, less inviting to pick and prod and scratch. He keeps his nails short, and he rests easier.

His shifts become less regulated. He bases them on what he wants to do, not what he thinks he needs to do. He wants to catch a movie at a cinema on Thursday, so he takes the morning shift to free up his afternoon. He wants to have dinner with his mom on Monday, so he doesn’t go to work until the evening. He fits work around his life, instead of fitting his life into a routine, and he feels better.

* * *

Tyler dreams. No more endless corridors and airless rooms. In these dreams, Tyler’s toes skim the treetops and he skips across the air. He can see for miles. His town is nowhere to be found. It panics him at first, until he feels warmth in his hand, and he turns and sees a bright smile and brighter hair. He smiles too, overwhelmed that Josh is beside him again. They run together, faster than any car could carry them, and higher than any plane could take them.

“Josh, I missed you. I’m so glad you came back.” Tyler cries into Josh’s arms. They’re standing, beside Tyler’s car on that grassy verge. “I missed you so much.”

Josh looks into Tyler’s eyes, but doesn’t say anything. He looks sad.

“I don’t know you.” He says.

“You do know me, Josh. I’m Tyler. You were right, I needed to sort myself out. I was acting unhealthily. But I’m getting better, I swear. I’m trying.”

“I don’t know you.” He repeats.

“You know me, Josh. You do know me!” Tyler insists, shaking Josh’s shoulders.

Josh shakes his head, and doesn’t say anything. Tyler’s car alarm is going off, and Josh looks scared, and he runs. He runs away from Tyler, while Tyler looks helplessly at his car alarm blaring.

Then Tyler wakes up, smacking his alarm clock off his bedside table. The incessant beeping stops as it lands on the floor, and the casing cracks open. Tyler stares at the fragmented alarm clock, stuck reading 6.30am forever, before getting up and going to shower.

* * *

It’s dusk when Tyler drives home after his shift. During the day, there are more people working than there are during the night shift. Tyler shares his room of monitors with two other people. Jenna and Brad are nice to him, and they make each other cups of coffee as they watch the monitors. They even have in-jokes. Tyler likes it.

Tyler drives home from his shift in the pink-grey light as the sun sinks below the horizon. The rays cast greyish-brownish shadows across the undersides of clouds, and the sky turns almost fuchsia.

There’s just enough light to cast another shadow. A shadow in the skies, above the treetops, as Tyler passes that patch of woods, and nears that grassy verge. A column of smoke, small, wispy, and just where Tyler had always seen it.

Almost automatically, Tyler pulls over and parks up just like he used to. It’s warmer, and his yellow hoodie is folded up on the seat beside him. He grabs it and fastens it just around his waist, in case there’s a chill in the air later.

That bank, that path, that clearing, it’s all so familiar to Tyler has he treads where he used to tread before. The smell of damp bark, the crunch of twigs, the sound of a fire crackling.

Tyler smiles as he spies yellow through the branches.

“Josh.” He breathes, and almost bursts into tears as familiar hazel eyes meet his own.

“Tyler.” Josh stands from his crouching position by his fire. Hammock strung up, and all his possessions set up already. Josh strides to Tyler, and envelopes him in a tight hug.

Tyler breathes in, and is greeted with the smell of sweat and ash and the outdoors, and laughs. “You’re back.”

“I’m back. For a little bit. If that’s okay.”

“More than okay.” Tyler mumbles. “I don’t have anything. I didn’t realise…”

“I didn’t expect you to stop, if you saw. I didn’t expect anything. This is more than enough.”

“I’m sorry.” Tyler can’t stop himself from speaking. “I’m sorry I ran. You were right. More right that you might have realised. I’m sorry. I did need to sort some shit out, and I did. I’m not better yet, but I’m getting there.”

“It’s okay.” Josh murmurs, and touches Tyler’s cheek. “It’s okay, and I’m glad. That’s good.”

Tyler nods. “I can talk about it, if you want. If it’d help.”

Josh shrugs. “That’s up to you. If it’d help you.”

“It might.”

“Do you want to?” Josh asks.

Tyler shakes his head. “Yes, but later. I want to talk. Be with you. Not just talk at you. I want to know you, and I want you to know me.” Tyler chews his lip. “I think that’d be good for both of us.”

So they talk. Tyler talks about his shifts at work, his colleagues, his family. He talks about his unhealthy behaviours and how he’s been trying to beat them. He talks about how those were the things that stopped him before, and how he wants to be better in the future.

Josh talks about his wanderlust, how he can’t stay in place for too long, and how he fears attachment or reliance. He talks about how he regretted not saying goodbye to Tyler, and how he’d stayed in those woods for so long because he wanted to see Tyler, and broke all his rules about how much he’d ever tell anyone when he spoke to Tyler.

Tyler talks about his own rules, his routines, and how he broke it to see Josh.

They talk, and it’s good.

* * *

“Come with me, when I leave here.” Josh takes Tyler’s hand, a little over a week later since he set up camp. “You’re doing so good. I think you coming with me might be okay. Not for ages, just for a little while.”

“Josh, I can’t.” Tyler protests.

“You can. You’re getting better at this. I don’t want to pressure you, but I want to share more with you. I… I like you, Tyler. I want you in my life more.”

“Josh, I-“

“I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to. Hell, I’ll find hotels or hostels or whatever you might need if you’re not comfortable sleeping as rough as me. I can accommodate, if that’d help…” Josh babbles.

“Josh!” Tyler interrupts. “When I said ‘can’t’, I meant… I didn’t mean I don’t want to. I meant I’d have to book a vacation from work.” Tyler presses his lips together to stop himself giggling as Josh stares at him, lips parted.

“You… Want to?” Josh frowns. “For real?”

“Mmhmm.” Tyler nods. “I know it’s not your impromptu devil-may-care style, but some of us have jobs that need to be informed before we disappear.” Tyler squeezes Josh’s hand. “But sure. I’ll get a week off. Maybe two.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” And he is sure. “When I spent time with you, I managed to stop worrying. Just for a little bit, at least. But if I managed to stop worrying for a little bit… Maybe I can stop worrying a lot. Worth a shot, anyway.”

“Oh.” Josh bites his lip. “Cool.”

“On one condition.” Tyler raises an eyebrow. “You take me somewhere we can swim. It’s warm enough now, I should think.”

Josh snorts. “Shark-free, I assume?”

Tyler chuckles. “Preferably no sharks, yeah.”

“Okay.” Josh rubs his thumb over Tyler’s knuckles. He grins, a bright smile and brighter hair “Okay, no sharks. Deal.”


End file.
